


In fondo siamo umani

by n0cturnal_spirit



Series: Ancient World AU [1]
Category: Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, I tried?, M/M, Prince of Illyria!Ermal, Roman slave!Fabrizio, an AU that no one asked for, i suck at summaries, let's all hope I'll finish this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0cturnal_spirit/pseuds/n0cturnal_spirit
Summary: Ermal Meta, prince of the Kingdom of Illyria, is tired of watching the enslaved people being treated in such horrible ways. During a revolt, he tries to reason with the people and helps an injuried slave, who he later gets to know as Fabrizio Moro, former army general of the Roman Republic. Will trying to change the slave's life for the better also change his own life, as well?





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I love historical AUs and since no one had written this, here it is. I have a very vague idea where this is going to go, we'll see as I write it, which I sencirely hope to actually do. I promise to try my best to give this a proper ending, I didn't plan for it to be a multichaptered fic, but things happened and oops? Anyway, critisism is welcomed, as are reviews and what not. Please, keep in mind that English is not my first language and this is not beta-read, so feel free to point out any mistakes you might find. Hope you like it!

“Your highness, wait! It is dangerous to go out there! The revolt has gotten out of hand and-“

“Of course it has. Those people need help!” Ermal tried to go around the guard, who blocked his way out of the palace, towards the grounds that were currently filled with people – _slaves_ – fighting for their freedom. Did no one see their suffering? “Let me pass instantly, lest you are removed from service!”

The guard hesitated, then nodded, moving away from the gate and Ermal pushed it open, getting through it before someone else tried to stop him. If he could only speak with the people, listen to their wishes and then present the matter to his father… this needed to be resolved peacefully, no one had to die.

Upon noticing him, the crowd fell silent gradually – first the ones in the front quieted down, then those behind them, until nothing more could be heard. Ermal studied their faces – burned by the sun, with sharp bones that were almost piercing the thin skin, and their eyes – filled with fire that was furious and brimming with hope at the same time. He took a deep breath – this had to be done right.

“No blood needs to be spilled today. I shall listen to all of your demands and present them to the council. I am well aware of the inhumane conditions you are all subjected to and will fight to change them for the better. However, this shall be a verbal fight, where no lives are taken. Please, let me help you.”

There was distrust in their eyes, Ermal could see it clearly. Were his words not easy enough to understand? Had he said the correct things? Perhaps they didn’t understand the language; most of them were either Roman or Germanic. Maybe he should repeat himself in Latin? Maybe then they would all come peacefully to speak to him. He took another breath and translated his words. Some of the faces became less murderous while he spoke. Many of the people laid down their improvised weapons – simple tools of labour, really. One man cautiously took a step towards Ermal. He was almost as tall as Ermal himself, had a darker complexion and a fairly muscular build, covered in tattoos. But what captured Ermal’s attention were the fiery dark eyes under the messy black hair – eyes that were ready to trust him. However, as he moved to take another step, an arrow shot through his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. With a horrified expression, Ermal rushed towards him, letting the man put his right arm over his shoulders to support himself. He looked up at the palace walls to find them full of archers with their bows loaded and pointed at the crowd.

“Disarm yourselves immediately!” He shouted at them, trying his best to support the weight of the injured man. “You shall not harm anyone else, this is an order! These people have suffered enough! Instead, see to it that the square in front of the Temple of Apollo is prepared for tomorrow morning, when I shall have all these people present their demands to me. Is this clear? Now, open the gates, this man needs medical attention!”

Fortunately, the archers listened and lowered their weapons just as the gate was being open. Ermal took a step forward, looking at the man to see if he would follow, which he did. As they entered the courtyard, two servants took the man off of Ermal and began walking to one of the medical yards. Ermal followed them, wanting to make sure that they would take proper care of the man, not just patch him up without cleaning the wound and then kick him out of the palace.

As they entered the physician’s quarters, he gave them a confused look before Ermal clarified what was expected of him. The physician nodded, albeit reluctantly, and gave instructions to the servants and his assistants. Ermal leaned on one of the closest walls, intending to speak with the man when he was no longer in danger of bleeding out and dying. It was a painful scene to watch, which only went to assure him in the rightfulness of his opinions regarding slavery. This was not the way in which people should treat others, no matter their origin or social status. And if he had to stand up to his father and the council to change things, then so be it.

When the physician was done and had gone to one of the other rooms, Ermal took a goblet, filled it with water and handed it to the man, then sat on one of the chairs facing him.

“Thank you for your kindness, your highness. But I still don’t understand why you’re doing all of this.” The man spoke in Latin, so he was clearly one of the Romans, dragged here to become slaves by the Illyrian army after their victory in battle.

“You need not thank me, I am only doing what’s right. We are all human, regardless of origin and station, and we all deserve to be treated as such. And some people, such as you, are forced to suffer because of all the pointless wars that others make them fight. And for what? We have enough resources, it’s all for territory! Because some people are insatiable when it comes to territory!” The anger had risen in Ermal and he had gotten up from the chair and had started pacing in front of the Roman. “And those who fight for this territory gain nothing but injuries and suffering! Some even die! Do you find it just?” Ermal stopped in front of the Roman once more and was faced with those fiery dark eyes again, but now they were filled with admiration instead of caution. The Roman lowered his head then and answered quietly,

“I could never stand against the Senate’s decision. I was simply a general, following the given orders. It has always been so.”

“But it doesn’t have to be! It is time that those in power started listening to the demands of their own people! Not only this, but they should also think of their subjects as the actual living people that they are, not just some combat units that can be easily sacrificed in the name of the next useless acquisition!”

“You would be a great king someday, your highness.”

These words, spoken in a low tone, once more full of admiration, made Ermal stop and think. He could perhaps start the change with this man here.

“You said you were a general in the Roman army, correct?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“So you are literate, then?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“You should have the position as my personal scribe, then. You will not be a slave, you will receive proper living quarters and payment for your services. You are also free to decline this offer and I will find you another position.”

Ermal could read genuine surprise on the Roman’s face, mixed with the still present admiration.

“I am honoured by your offer, your highness, and I accept.”

Ermal smiled, extending a hand and laying it on the Roman’s uninjured shoulder.

“Wonderful. It shall be arranged right away.”

The Roman returned his smile and Ermal felt pride well up inside him – he’d changed this man’s life for the better. There was still hope for his undertaking, which had seemed impossible for so long. He smiled once more, squeezing the Roman’s shoulder lightly and made his way to leave. Yet, before he reached the door, he turned back to the Roman.

“I forgot to ask how you are called.”

“Fabrizio Moro, your highness.”

“Well, then, Fabrizio,” Ermal was pleasantly surprised by how easily the syllables of the name rolled off his tongue, “I shall be expecting you tomorrow morning at the Temple’s square. Servants should come to you shortly to show you to your new quarters.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

Ermal smiled once more at the Roman – _Fabrizio_ – and exited the room, looking for servants to ask them to prepare the rooms. He was finally doing the right thing and felt happy for the first time since a long while. Perhaps he would get to experience happiness more often from now on, and if it would result from the time he spent with Fabrizio, then all the better.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop crashed in the middle of writing this, but thankfully nothing was lost, so here you go.  
> Also, I am writing Ermal as an Ancient Greek because those are the customs I am most familiar with, and I know nothing about ancient Albanian history, so if someone could enlighten me, that would be wonderful.  
> Also also, when describing the Temple, I use the word "podium". This does not mean that they have build a special platform so that the speaker could stand above the listeners. I meant the highest "stair" of the Temple, the one from which the columns start. I hope this makes sense.   
> Also also also, clothing in the Ancient world was a big deal. The way you were dressed (type of clothing, lenght, material, colour, etc) showed your wealth and rank in society. I plan to take as much advantage of this fact as possible.   
> (I should be studying Gothic architecture instead of writing this, and yet here I am. Let's all hope I don't fail the exam.)   
> I hope you enjoy reading this, critisism is welcome, as always. I apologise if it seems messy.

Ermal loved the sea. He loved it when it was stormy, the white angry waters crushing into the shore and tirelessly changing the coastline. He loved it when it was calm, its waters a beautiful turquoise that reflected the sunlight onto the soft sand underneath his bare feet. It made thinking easier. It helped him _breathe_.

The light breeze made the morning air even chillier and Ermal felt a slight tremble go up his spine, despite wearing a _himation_ over his _chiton_. His eyes followed one of the ships about to drop anchor at the harbour. It was clearly a commerce ship, it had no holes for the cannons that battleships obligatory had on board. Ermal wondered what its load was: perhaps it was returning from a journey to the East with cloths and spices; or it had been to the Northwest and was now bringing back people to be sold into slavery as livestock. He gritted his teeth and moved his gaze back onto the endless blue of the sea. Today was the day he’d listen to the people and their demands. Today he’d be personally acquainted with their daily hardships. Today he’d finally begin his preparation to stand in front of the council and plead his case for the freedom of all people. He knew it’d be hard: slavery was one of the main sources of profit for the Kingdom, it had been for centuries. But now, they had the biggest port on the eastern shore of the Adriatic, which meant that commerce was blooming. There was no longer any need for slaves, if there even was any in the first place. No one had to suffer any longer and he would make sure of that.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the salt from the sea cleanse his lungs. Then, after a final look at the water, he made his way towards the Temple of Apollo.

When he arrived, the square was already filled with people. He noticed that they weren’t only the ones from yesterday’s revolt; there were some free citizens, as well. They had probably come to hear what he had to say on the matter and then go spread exaggerated lies to their wealthy friends. They were the reason he hated to speak publicly – had it been only the people he would have been fine, but these envious hypocrites he couldn’t stand. As soon as they noticed him approaching, they started whispering among themselves. Ermal sighed and made his way further into the crowd towards the Temple.

There, next to the front colonnade on the podium, stood Fabrizio. He was nervously looking around, his fingers playing with the end of the bright red _sagum_ he was wearing over his white _tunica_ , adorned with a red border, nicely complimenting the _sagum_. The Roman clothing suited him much better than the worn-out _chiton_ he was forced to wear not so long ago. Ermal had made the right choice in instructing the servants to find this type of clothing for his scribe. The thought made him smile and he approached Fabrizio. The moment the Roman noticed him, Fabrizio let out a contended sigh and smiled wide enough that his teeth were visible. Ermal stopped in front of him, putting a hand on his right shoulder, remembering that his left one must still hurt.

“I am glad to find you already here. It might be still early, but with all these people already gathered here, I think it best to start.”

“It would seem that it was not only my trust you have won, my prince.”

Ermal took in a sharp breath at hearing this: he couldn’t believe how happy the Roman’s words made him. He had also never heard his title spoken with such admiration; and he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to hear it being spoken like this as often as possible.

“I hope that you are right, Fabrizio.” They exchanged another smile, before Ermal let go of his shoulder and turned to look at the gathered people, while still speaking only as loud so that only Fabrizio could hear him. “Now, shall we begin? I need to hear as many people as there is time for. I hope you brought some parchment and ink with you?”

“Of course. I just hope it would be enough.” Fabrizio lifted a leather bag that Ermal hadn’t noticed from the ground and opened it, revealing a thick pad of parchment, a couple of bottles of ink and a few quills.

“No need to worry, if it turns out not to be enough, I will send someone to fetch you some more.”

Fabrizio nodded and Ermal moved to sit on the podium between the third and fourth column as to not to block the entrance to the Temple. He gestured to Fabrizio to take a sit on his right and turned towards the crowd, raising his voice a bit, so he could be heard by all.

“All of you, who wish for me to listen to their demands, please form a queue and come one by one, so that I can hear each and every one of you. What you tell me will be recorded by my scribe and then presented to the council as an argument in defence of the change that needs to be made to the situation with slavery. I will have to ask you to be as laconic as possible, so that there is time for everyone. Let us begin.”

***

As the sun was starting to set, the queue seemed as if it had not gotten shorter than it had been in the morning. Ermal had sent a servant for a new patch of parchment for Fabrizio twice, and the people seemed to only become more and more. Yet he was content. Perhaps Fabrizio had been right: he had truly gained the people’s trust. The thought made him smile, despite the exhaustion he was feeling. He listened as another of the people finished with what he had to say, then stood, capturing the crowd’s attention.

“I fear this would be all for today. We shall continue tomorrow morning again, once more here at the Temple. Thank you for coming to speak with me, I truly do hope I will be able to make a difference.”

One of the men in the front of the queue started cheering on him and soon the whole crowd followed. Ermal widened his eyes in surprise: he had feared for so long that the people would despise him as they did his father, and yet here they were, approving of his undertaking. He felt his lips widen into a grin, which made the crowd cheer louder. He raised his hand in salutation, then turned to Fabrizio, only to find him cheering as well, wearing a wide grin of his own. The sight reminded him of the sea, when it was embracing you with its calming caresses, letting you lose yourself in its depths. Just as he was losing himself in the warm pools of Fabrizio’s eyes, so full of admiration and _happiness_.

Sadly, the moment passed and Ermal’s consciousness was once more filled with the cheers of the crowd. He tore his gaze away from the Roman’s and searched for the piles of parchment on the podium. He bent down, taking two of them in his arms, and straightened once more. Fabrizio seemed to understand what he had to do without words and he mirrored Ermal, taking the remaining two piles in his own arms.

“Please, follow me. These need to be brought to my study, so I can utilise them for my argumentation.” Ermal waited for Fabrizio to nod, before he went off towards the palace, making sure that the Roman was walking next to him, and not falling behind. He didn’t care if it wasn’t acceptable for a person of non-noble birth to walk beside him; a title did not automatically make him better than the other people. Ermal made a mental note to render this unwritten law invalid as soon as he was given enough power to do so.

When they reached the door to Ermal’s chambers, Fabrizio suddenly stopped. Ermal turned to face him with a confused expression.

“Why did you stop? The parchments still need to be brought to the study.”

Fabrizio looked at the floor – _was he embarrassed?_ – and answered in a voice, that was not much louder than a whisper.

“It would be unacceptable for me to enter your chambers, your highness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there are servants who come in and out of my rooms all the time. Why would this be any different?”

Fabrizio seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he looked back up at Ermal, with a conflicted expression on his face.

“You are right, you highness, it is no different.”

Ermal could swear there was a note of bitterness to Fabrizio’s words, but the parchments were starting to strain his arms and he had to put them down. He led the way to his study, letting down the parchments on the desk by the window facing the sea and moved away so that Fabrizio could do the same. When the Roman noticed the sight, he stopped in his tracks and simply _looked_.

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Ermal asked, after noticing the direction of the other’s gaze.

“It truly is. I have never seen such a sight, even in Rome.”

“It is the sea that makes it so. Without it, the view wouldn’t have been nearly as impressive as it is now.” And yet Ermal wasn’t looking at the sea; his eyes were following the curve of the Roman’s full lips, the straight line of his nose, and his warm eyes, which were currently illuminated by the setting sun. This, Ermal thought, was a sight he would gladly exchange the sea for.

The moment passed once more when Fabrizio looked down at the parchments, then back up at Ermal.

“You must be tired, my prince. I will leave you to rest.”

“You must be even more tired than I. Rest well, Fabrizio. I expect to see you again tomorrow morning at the Temple.”

“Of course, my prince.” Fabrizio nodded and turned to leave.

Ermal remained watching after him minutes after he was gone. Then he turned back to look at the calm blue of the sea. He was _content_.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments! You have no idea how much they motivate me to continue writing this!  
> This chapter turned out a bit angstier than I planned, but I generally have no idea where I'm going with this so...  
> Also, I'm sorry if the sentence constructions seem strange, I'm still trying to recall how English works after two years of concentrating on other languages.  
> I hope you enjoy reading this! Criticism is always appreciated!

The square in front of the Temple of Apollo was once more filled with people. As Ermal walked, they made way for him, nodding at him respectfully, some even smiling. He smiled back, feeling the _acceptance_ of the people – according to the philosophers, this was the most important thing for a ruler to have, and Ermal was proud of himself to have achieved it.

As he reached the podium, he found Fabrizio once more already waiting for him. The Roman greeted him with a warm smile, which Ermal readily returned.

“I hope you’re well rested, Fabrizio. It seems like today the people are no less than they were yesterday.”

“I am, thank you, my prince. In fact, I brought more parchment today.” Fabrizio gestured to the two leather bags next to the third column.

“You’ve come prepared, I see.” Ermal’s smile widened as he squeezed Fabrizio’s uninjured shoulder. The tanned skin underneath his pale fingers was warm and soft to the touch and Ermal found himself wanting to trace the intricate tattoos with his fingertips; would the inked skin feel different?

“Shall we begin, my prince?” Fabrizio’s words made Ermal blink as he was pulled out of his thoughts. He nodded, reluctantly letting go of the Roman’s shoulder, and moved to take his place between the columns, followed by the other. The people did not need instruction as they arranged themselves in a queue, and started approaching Ermal.

***

It was nearing midday when there was a sudden turmoil in the crowd. The queue was split in two and forward came the king’s advisor, followed by ten of the king’s personal guard. Ermal took in the worried faces of the people and stood up from the podium.

“What is the meaning of this?” He tried to keep his exterior calm as to not to worry the people any more that they already were, despite he himself being unpleasantly surprised by the arrival of the advisor.

“The king has requested your presence in the Throne Hall immediately, my prince.” The advisor answered, giving him a small bow, which felt more mocking than respectful. Ermal had never particularly liked the man – another envious hypocrite, who only got the position because he had falsely accused the former advisor of crimes he hadn’t committed in front of the king. Ermal liked the way the advisor pronounced his title even less: it felt, once more, as if he was being mocked; gone were the softly flowing syllables of Fabrizio’s voice.

“I am currently occupied otherwise. I promised that I would listen to the people, and here I am, keeping my promise. Inform my father that I am unable to fulfil his request.”

“The king has given instruction to bring you in one way or another. Do you refuse to come peacefully, my prince?” Ermal could see the advisor struggling to keep a satisfied smile off his face; he was rather unsuccessful.

“I am going nowhere. You have no right to give me orders. Return to my father and deliver him my words.”

Ermal was just about to sit back down onto the podium when the advisor lifted his hand and the ten soldiers moved as one towards Ermal, got hold of him and started to literally drag him off the podium.

“You shall release me this instant! You have no right to handle in such a way!” Ermal tried to struggle out of their hold, but to no avail: they were way too strong and way too many.

“We are simply following the king’s orders, my prince. We were instructed to bring you in, regardless of the method.” The advisor was no longer trying to keep the satisfied smile off his face; his voice was filled with dexterity, which made it obvious that the dislike was mutual.

Ermal stopped struggling, hoping that they would let him go; unfortunately, they did the exact opposite and strengthened their hold on him, making it painful. Ermal tried to turn his head so he could take a look at Fabrizio. The Roman wore a furious expression and his hands were squeezed so tightly into fists that the white of the knuckles was visible from afar; he looked ready to jump at the guards, with or without a weapon. Ermal tried to convey that all would be well with a look, but it did nothing to calm his scribe. The people on the square were just as angry; their eyes were following the advisor and the solider with disdain and Ermal could see some of them muttering disapprovingly amongst themselves. This reaction was what reassured Ermal once more in the rightfulness of his undertaking: his father would never approve of it, yet Ermal would not stop until things were right.

***

As they entered the Throne Hall, Ermal was met with the stoic face of his father, looking down at him from his high throne. The soldiers finally let go of him and he rubbed his aching skin, where bruises were already starting to form.

“Why have you called me here, father?” Ermal tried to keep his voice calm and expression dispassionate as he looked up to meet the eyes of the king.

“You have been accused of being a supporter of Rome.” His father spoke through gritted teeth, clearly unhappy with the events.

“What sort of lie is this supposed to be?” Ermal looked around, trying to figure out which one of his father’s advisors of lesser ranks had come up with this idiosyncrasy, but they all looked equally satisfied with themselves; could it have been some sort of conspiracy against him?

“A lie?” The cold voice of his father made Ermal turn his gaze back towards the king. “I have been informed that you have freed a slave of a Roman origin and have given him the position of your scribe. And all this without firstly buying him off from his owner. And after this, you go around making speeches in Latin and encouraging the slaves to talk to you, also in Latin. Your actions suspiciously resemble such of a supporter of the Roman Republic, would you not say so yourself?”

“I would say that this is the most ridiculous thing I have heard! How else are the people supposed to understand me if I were to speak to them in Hellenic? The majority of them are either from Rome or Germania, where the spoken language is Latin!” Ermal was exasperated that he even had to explain such an obvious thing to his father.

“I do not see why you would speak to them at all. The slaves have only one task and it is to follow their master’s every command. They have no need of speaking.” His father was talking slowly, exaggerating every word, as if he was explaining it to a small child. Ermal had always despised that tone.

“But don’t you see how wrong you are by believing this?! They are people, just like the rest of us, and must not be treated as livestock! What makes us better than them?! They are capable of the same things as every free citizen, some are even more skilled! If you had taken the time to speak with them, you would find that some are much better spoken than many of the members of your own court! Yet you stubbornly believe in your false convictions and refuse to face the terrible reality that you yourself help create!”

Ermal’s voice was rising with every word he spoke and by the end he was already shouting. He had never done so before to his father’s face. However, he couldn’t stand the way his father spoke about the people and the words tore off from his throat before he could stop them. His father had turned red, even more furious than he had been when they had brought Ermal into the Hall. He was gripping the velvet handles of his Throne so tightly that Ermal feared he would tear the material off. Yet, when the king spoke, his voice was devoid of any emotion; it was only cold as the freezing winds in the winter, making Ermal shudder.

“If you dare to speak another word, you will be thrown in the dungeon and will spend the rest of your life there. The Throne will then go to your brother; he might turn up to be worthier than you, which would not be such difficult a task.” His father made a pause, waiting for Ermal to protest, but he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, only to keep himself from making the situation even worse. His father continued with the same dispassionate tone, “Now, go to your chambers. You are forbidden from leaving them until I allow it.”

Ermal bit into his lip even harder, his mouth already filled with the coppery taste of his blood, and bowed curtly to his father, before hastily exiting the Throne Hall.

When he closed the doors of his chambers behind his back, he starting knocking down all of his belongings he could get his hands on. He was absolutely _livid_. His father had completely refused to listen to reason. How would Ermal made him listen when the time came for him to present his argumentation supporting rightful behaviour regarding enslaved people?! And he had let himself be so hopeful! His back hit the door and he let himself slide down to the floor. He pulled up his knees to his chest and let his head hang between them. What was he to do now? The people trusted him and he could not even get out of his own chambers to hear them! They would think he had lied to them; they would start resenting him just as they resented his father. How could he ever believe he could make a difference when he couldn’t even stand up to his father? How could he hope to have the people’s trust when he couldn’t keep a promise he himself had given? How-

His thoughts were cut off as there was a light knock on his door.

“Who is it?” Perhaps his father wasn’t satisfied with his punishment and had changed his mind about throwing Ermal in the dungeons.

“My prince, it is Fabrizio. I simply wanted to see if you were alright.”

Ermal had never been more glad to hear a voice in his entire life. He quickly got up from the floor and opened the door, revealing a troubled-looking Fabrizio, who still had his hand raised to knock. Ermal smiled at him and moved aside, gesturing to the Roman to enter. The other hesitated for a moment, then walked in, but stopped again after seeing the mess Ermal had made earlier.

“I apologise for the disarray, I don’t know what overcame me. I promise I’m not always this messy.” He tried to make a joke, yet Fabrizio did not laugh, clearly still too shocked by the events.

“May I ask what they wanted from you, my prince?” Fabrizio turned to him, examining him and as he noticed the imprints of hands on Ermal’s arms, his eyes widened and then narrowed in anger. “They hurt you!”

“It’s alright, it only looks bad. It doesn’t hurt at all.” Ermal disliked lying, but he didn’t want to risk Fabrizio doing something reckless. “My father simply does not approve of me trying to change the situation with slavery. He accused me of being a supporter of the Roman Republic.”

“What?” Fabrizio’s expression had become bewildered. “Does this have to do with your kindness towards me?” Ermal could see guilt take over bewilderment and was quick to reassure the Roman as he captured his face with his hands and made Fabrizio look him in the eyes.

“They might think whatever they like, it would not change my own conviction. You deserve what I did for you, and so much more. Please, do not let their envious lies get to you.”

“You should not be punished because of me, my prince.” Fabrizio’s voice had become low, only slightly louder than a whisper.

“It is not your fault! It is because of those fools that my father has surrounded himself with. They got their positions by spreading lies, so why stop now when such a delicious accusation could get them a higher rank.” Ermal’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he was glad to see that Fabrizio no longer looked guilty. Ermal smiled and let go of his face, feeling slight disappointment, but chased that thought away. “Much more important now is how I am going to listen to the people when I am forbidden to leave these chambers.”

“Perhaps I could continue recording the people’s words as your scribe and deliver them all to you.”

“This is a brilliant idea!” Ermal grinned widely and captured Fabrizio’s right hand in his own in his excitement. Fabrizio smiled shyly up at him. “You would only need to be careful not to be caught by the guard. The meeting grounds would need to be changed. The Temple of Dionysus in the woods north of here might be the best option. You have to inform the people of this. Do you have someone you could trust?”

“Yes. It will all be done. You would make a great strategist, my prince.” Fabrizio’s voice was still low and Ermal realised he wanted to listen to it forever; the way the Roman pronounced his title made his breath hitch every time.

“Thank you, Fabrizio, but this was your idea, not mine. Are you truly sure you want to do this? They could execute you if you are found.” Ermal squeezed the hand he was still holding between his own two, trying to convey his concern.

“I would not have offered if I did not want to do it, my prince.” Fabrizio’s own hand squeezed those of Ermal, letting him know that he was completely serious in his decision.

Ermal smiled widely once more; the hope was returning again – perhaps he could still achieve his goal, with the help of Fabrizio.

“My prince, I better leave, lest they spread more lies about your loyalty to Illyria. I fear I had to insist that the guards in front of the palace let me in, so they know that I am here with you.”

Reluctantly, Ermal nodded, letting go of Fabrizio’s hand, and took a step back, giving way to the other to exit the chamber. Fabrizio looked once more at the bruises on his arms disapprovingly, then bowed, wished him to rest well and left. Ermal was suddenly overcame by a feeling of emptiness; Fabrizio’s presence had felt so powerful to him, and now that the Roman was gone, there was only his gaping absence that was left. Ermal sighed, then made to tidy the mess he’d made of the room. And yet, he was immensely grateful to Fabrizio; with him had also returned his _hope_.   


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, there is simply so much stuff to be done. It is also incredibly messy, and I'm sorry for that as well, I'm just tired and it's too hot to think.  
> The mentioned frescoes are these: https://antiquitynow.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/dolphin-fresco.png  
> I hope you enjoy reading this, criticism is always welcome!

_Pacem_. Black letters over tanned skin. The sharp contrast with his own pale one. Like bright stars across the dark sky of the night.

And, ultimately, contrary to its meaning, that simple word gave Ermal no peace at all. He read over the paragraph for a millionth time, yet his thoughts kept returning to Fabrizio, to his _hands_ laying down a new batch of parchment on his desk, as Ermal’s own hands ached to reach out and _touch_.

Yet, he never did. It might not be well accepted by the Roman; after all, Illyria was very liberal when it came to such relations, whereas in Rome it would be frowned upon. And Ermal enjoyed the _easiness_ that had found its way between the two of them in these last two weeks. As Fabrizio came bearing his notes each night, he stayed for a while in Ermal’s study, the two of them conversing about everything and anything, Fabrizio impressing Ermal with his way with words gradually more and more after each conversation. Ermal had never before looked forward to a discussion like he did to the ones with his scribe; even the Ionian philosophers visiting the palace through the years had not left him with such desire to speak, despite his love of philosophy. With Fabrizio, it was simply _natural_. No matter the topic, or whether they agreed or not, he found expressing himself and being _understood_ easy. And Ermal could not afford to lose this because of something so unimportant as carnal desire. It would pass with time, whereas the _easiness_ would stay. And in the end, this was what mattered.

Ermal sighed and turned his attention back towards the parchment. The piles had been quite thin since the day he had been literally dragged off by the guard in front of the people; Fabrizio had said that the people came to the Temple of Dionysus in very small groups, as they worried that them being caught would have a negative effect on ‘ _the prince’s incarceration_ ’, as they had begun to call it. As Ermal heard it for the first time, he burst out laughing: the official story was that his father had helped him to see the wrongness of his conviction to communicate with the slaves; and yet the people had seen through the lies and that made him happy. Besides, the slowness of things was not so bad: his father would soon get tired of keeping Ermal locked and would allow him free reign once more; it was also an excuse to see Fabrizio every night.

Smiling to himself, he read through the notes again, writing down on a separate piece of parchment some citations he would need for his argumentation before the council. He had already filled twelve pages with such citations from the people and his own thoughts under each and every one of them. And once all the people had shared their demands with Fabrizio, who in turn brought them to Ermal, he had to structure everything properly in a comprehensible speech and present it. Unfortunately, that was the easiest part; he still had to figure out how exactly to call the council and his father for a meeting regarding this topic. The moment they realised what he was to talk about, they’d refuse to attend. He had to find a different approach. Perhaps he could start off with the prosperity of commerce or the blossoming relations with the East-

The knock on the door tore him away from his thoughts and he smiled - it could only be Fabrizio. Ermal rose from his desk and went to the door, opening it to reveal that he was in fact right: the Roman smiled at him the moment he saw him and entered the room, as Ermal made way. It made him so pleased to see the confident way in which Fabrizio moved about his quarters; gone were the embarrassment and the confliction he had had the first time he had been here. Now, he did not wait for Ermal to lead the way, but went straight for the study, letting the parchment he was carrying down on the desk, and taking a sit on the _divan_ facing the opened windows, through which the last light of the setting sun illuminated the room. Ermal sat next to him, turning to face him and leaning back onto one of the pillows.

“I take it, the things are going well?”

“Yes, although the people continue to worry over your well-being, my prince.” Fabrizio turned his head to look at Ermal, his eyes showing that he shared the worry of the others.

“Oh, there is no need for that. I am quite well, if not a bit bored that I have to spend the whole time behind closed doors.” Ermal smiled softly and looked out of the window. “Although, if I have to be completely honest, I do miss the sea.”

“Is there truly no way out of here without being noticed?”

Ermal turned back to Fabrizio with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

“What are you suggesting, Fabrizio? That we go against the word of the king? That we use one of the secret passages which end in the woods near the shore? That we risk being caught and perhaps even executed because I desired a stroll?”

“I never suggested that we’d get caught, my prince.” Fabrizio returned his grin and it made him look so young, so beautiful, so _alive_.

Ermal got up from the _divan_ and held out his hand to Fabrizio.

“Well then. Follow me.”

Fabrizio took the offered hand and Ermal pulled him up, leading him towards the baths. There, cleverly hidden between the adorned with frescoes of dolphins walls, was a passage. Ermal stopped and turned to Fabrizio, whispering,

“We must not use any light, otherwise they’ll see us. This passage is sometimes used by the servants, but at this time, there’ll hopefully be none. Still, we’d have to find our way in complete darkness. I’ve used it many times to get out of the palace before, so I could lead the way. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Fabrizio did not hesitate before giving his answer.

Ermal grinned excitedly, squeezing Fabrizio’s hand that he was still holding, and turned to enter the passage, pulling the other with him. He had not been lying when he said that he was familiar with the way: he knew each turn, each missing tile, each stair, and had counted the steps it took him to reach the shore so many times that he needed no light to find the correct way. As they were walking, Ermal whispered silent warnings to Fabrizio every time they reached an obstacle. The Roman had strengthened his hold on Ermal’s hand and had shortened the distance between them, now walking only a breath away; Ermal could feel the heat of the other’s body on his back and was fighting the temptation to lean back into him.

2445 steps. They exited the passage and found themselves surrounded by trees. Ermal did not stop, instead continued on, passing between the trees, following a direction only he could see.

826 steps. There was sand underneath their feet and they could hear the waves crashing against the shore. Ermal stopped and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in; the salty air tickled his lungs lightly, _purifying_ him. The salt tasted of _freedom_ and he wanted it to cover him whole, to _devour_ him, to fill his whole being, so that he would never forget what it felt like again.

Ermal let go of Fabrizio’s hand, unbuckled the _fibula_ holding his _chlamys_ , and spread the cloth on the sand, sitting on top of it and pulling the Roman down by the hand he had gotten hold of again. The water was illuminated by the moon and the stars, making it seem like it was hiding Poseidon’s grand palace just beneath the surface and the stars were actually the magic fire burning underwater to light the god’s path. Ermal looked up at the sky, discerning the various constellations that the gods had adorned the skies with. One was brighter than the rest. He lifted their clasped hands, pointing at it and making Fabrizio look.

“This over there is Aries. It symbolises Ares, the god of violent and physically untameable war. He represents the dangerous, overwhelming force that is insatiable in battle.”

“In Rome, we call him Mars. He personifies military power and the noise and blood of battle. It was his sons who founded Rome. To this day, he is still the patron of the City. Before battle, soldier pray to him that he is on their side, as he has the final decision of who wins and who loses.” Fabrizio’s tone was low and he spoke slowly, as if he had difficulty finding the words; or perhaps saying them out loud was the difficult part. Ermal let their hands fall and turned to face the other.

“Did you pray to him, as well?” His voice was no louder than a whisper, almost muted by the sea.

“During my first years in the army. I had such aggression in me, I felt as if I was his loyal subject, a creation of fire, made to serve only war. He is the force that drives war. But ideally, a war that delivers a secure peace. This is what I believed. So before each battle, I would pray to him, and then to Pax, our goddess of peace. I thought I was on the path to peace, but was swimming through a sea of blood instead. Now, if I truly feel the need to pray, I seek only Pax.”

“In Hellenic, Pax is called Eirene. I sometimes turn to her, as well. Unfortunately, as gods tend to do, she does not always answer.” Ermal turned once more towards the stars. “And yet, with Aries being so bright, we might need to seek her help once more. The Ionic astronomers believe that a constellation so bright could only be an omen. And given that these are the stars of Ares, it could only be an omen of war.”

“I hope the Ionic astronomers are wrong.”

“Unfortunately in this case, they rarely are.” Ermal took a deep breath. “And yet, Ares fathered Eros. War created love.”

Fabrizio did not give an answer to this, only strengthened his hold on the other’s hand. And Ermal let himself hope; perhaps it was not too late for peace. He could feel it underneath his fingertips: _pacem_.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, apologies, apologies for the massive delay! I no longer know what free time feels like (studying for more than ten hours a day with almost no breaks is bad for your mental health, people!) This was written last night in the early hours of the morning, so it is even messier than usually, I'm sorry.  
> Do not worry, I have not abandoned this work! I promise to finish it (e no, Ermal, questa promessa NON è fragile, eppure io magari la sono.)  
> I hope you enjoy reading this! I apologise for the delay again, I'm really terribly sorry.  
> (Also, thank you so much for your comments, they make me the happiest person on the world!)

Three days. He had been given his right of free reign of the grounds three days ago. And he hadn’t been back to his rooms since. He spent his days wandering through the city, the woods, the shores. At night he would sleep under the starry sky by the sea. He was no longer confined; he could _breathe_.

He had found himself expressing his gratitude to Fabrizio numerous times a day, as the Roman did not leave his side. Without him Ermal would have had lost himself to madness while being a prisoner in his own quarters. Without him he would not have had been able to fulfil his promise to the people. He had finished his argumentation, now reworked as a speech, the day before his release. And on the very next day he had requested that the council be called, under the pretext of presenting a new path for commerce with the East. It had proven to be the right choice as the date of the meeting had been set for two days’ time. Today.

Ermal was going through his notes for a final time while he waited for Fabrizio to come to his quarters, as the scribe would be accompanying him to the meeting. As he was reading the conclusion of his argumentation, a hesitant knock sounded from the door. Ermal collected his parchments, took a deep breath and went to open. The sight almost had him dropping his papers. Fabrizio was dressed in a blood-red _trabea_ over an _angusticlavi,_ like Ermal had requested: the Roman had protested when Ermal had suggested it, as in Rome only citizens of high ranks were permitted to wear togas. And yet, this what exactly what Ermal’s goal was: the council was aware enough of the so called “dress-code” in Rome, and by presenting Fabrizio in such a light he wanted to change their view on him, to show them that he was no longer a slave, but a free man, and at that highly valued by Ermal himself. It was slightly manipulative of him, but he was also doing this for Fabrizio, who was also well aware of what the clothing meant. Luckily for Ermal, after many tries to convince him, Fabrizio had agreed to wear a toga. And was that a view! The blood-red underlined the Roman’s own dark colours – his hair, untamed as always, seemed even blacker now; his sun-kissed skin resembled freshly melted copper; and the fire in his eyes seemed to burn stronger than ever. The toga hugged him beautifully, defining his well-sculpted forms. Fabrizio was nervously worrying his bottom lip, yet his eyes were focused on Ermal’s own. The Illyrian blinked, composing himself, smiled brightly at the scribe and made to go towards the council’s chamber. Fabrizio fell quietly in step next to him. They had discussed how they were to proceed the previous night, as they were lying on the sand, illuminated only by the stars: it had truly calmed Ermal down, as not even the sea could.

As they entered the council’s chamber, the members of the council were already there, conversing amongst themselves. They did not seem happy to be called, as a meeting had become a rarity under his father’s dictatorship-like rule. The king himself had already taken his place on a throne higher than the rest of the seats; he spoke with no one, simply observed with his cold gaze, which fell on Ermal the moment he entered the room. With that Ermal felt his confidence leaving him. Would this argumentation be enough to convince his father? Would he even listen, or was he doing this simply as an escape from his boring daily routine?

The members of the council seemed to notice their arrival and went to take their places. As silence took over the room, Ermal looked towards his father, waiting for a sign to begin speaking. The king made a gesture with his hand, which seemed almost depreciatory, but there would not come anything else, so Ermal took a last breath with the hope to calm himself (unsuccessfully), and began speaking. He described the blossoming relationship with the East, how they had achieved the peace they had fought for for so many years, and how they could focus on commerce now. He underlined the usefulness of the eastern goods like cloths, paints, spices and marble among many others; and the fact that people must no longer be a part of the wares. Without leaving room for objections, he continued speaking, beginning the main part of his argumentation: his reasons why slavery should be abolished, supported with quotations from the people. However, the expression that the king was wearing grew gradually angrier with each word that left Ermal’s lips. As his father grit his teeth, Ermal stumbled over his words and all the remaining confidence left him. What was he thinking by standing up to his father like this, openly disagreeing with his rule in front of his council, in front of the people? Had he lost his mind? His father had been looking for a reason to banish him, to throw him in a cell, to disown him for so long; and here Ermal was, serving it to him on a plate as an expertly prepared meal, which could satisfy the king’s wolfish hunger. Ermal could not do this. He could not, _he could not_ -

The feeling of parchment being pressed into his hands freed Ermal from the hypnotising gaze of his father and he turned to see Fabrizio giving him a supportive look as he slipped the paper on top of the others in Ermal’s hold. It was blank, but that was not the point: it was supposed to get Ermal to focus and it fulfilled its purpose. Fabrizio nodded to him, as if asking him if all was well, and Ermal nodded in response; he _could_ do this.

He began to speak again, this time looking at the faces of the councillors. He abstracted himself from their expressions; their gazes held no power over him. His confidence returned to him once more and the words began flowing out of him, conducted by his intonation, designed precisely to leave an impression on the listeners.

With his final sentence, Ermal turned once more to his father and raised his head high. He had done what he had wanted to, and they had listened. Yet, the expression on his father’s face was one of the unforgiving ice that he wore when he was beyond anger. Ermal bit his tongue, awaiting his sentence.

“You are stripped of all your titles. From tomorrow you will carry the status of a slave and will be sold off to the highest bidder. Now leave my sight.” The voice was emotionless and so _cold_ that Ermal felt as if he would never be warm in his life again.  

When the words finally registered, Ermal turned silently on his heel, foregoing a bow to his father (at this point the only worse thing that could happen to him was being executed, so why bother?) and left the chamber. He reached his quarters (were they even his any longer?) and let himself sit on the _divan_. He felt empty. He had done what he could. Now he would suffer the consequences he had brought onto himself. He had to find a way to explain his failure to the people; they would probably begin to resent him now, after all he had betrayed their trust. Perhaps an execution would be the preferable option.   

A knock on the door interrupted him once more and he simply granted permission to enter vocally, having no power left to go open the door himself. He was not surprised when Fabrizio entered and made his way towards him, sitting down next to him. Ermal turned to face the other,

“Why are you even here? There is nothing I could give you any longer. You are a free man, you should be out, enjoying your freedom. I am merely a slave now.”

“Do not say that, my prince.” Fabrizio’s voice, like his eyes, was full of imploration; Ermal did not understand why.

“You should no longer call me that, as it is no longer me. Now I am simply Ermal.” His lips curved in a small sad smile, but Fabrizio furrowed his brows over his narrowed eyes.

“The king had no right to humiliate you so, my prince.”

Ermal laughed bitterly,

“On the contrary, he did. He _is_ the king, after all. And stop with the title, it’s simply Ermal now.”

“It doesn’t matter what he calls himself, he was in the wrong. His council disagreed with him.”

“They did not.”

“Yes, they did. During your argumentation they listened to you intently and almost all of them were nodding along, obviously sharing your views on the matter and agreeing with them. Then, the moment you left the chamber, many of them stood from their places and began shouting at the king, telling him that he had been a fool to give such a sentence to you and to not open his eyes for the truth and the new reality we live in. Most of them demanded he abdicate and wanted to put you on the throne instead.”

“He would have their heads for this.” Ermal was shocked.

“I think not. He simply stood from the throne and left the chamber, while the councillors continued discussing how to crown you instead, my prince.” Fabrizio’s face now was graced by a soft smile and that was all Ermal needed to believe him. He caught the Roman’s face with his hands and kissed him. It took Fabrizio no time to return his advances and it was better than Ermal had imagined it: the Roman’s soft full lips fit with his own as a perfectly sculpted figure to the _fronton_ of a temple. Ermal poured into the kiss everything he could: his relief, his gratefulness, his happiness, and above all his love and longing for the Roman. Fabrizio seemed to understand him as he deepened the kiss, burying his hands into Ermal’s curls and pulling him closer. Just now Ermal realised how badly he had needed this; it was an entirely different feeling of liberation he felt at that moment, and he would give everything to keep it for the rest of his life.

As they parted for air, they locked eyes once more and Ermal found himself drowning in that warm gaze again; he did not need to breathe, he only needed _Fabrizio_.

“I love you.” He heard himself saying and it felt like he was taking his very first breath again. Fabrizio kissed him again, this time full of the fire that was always evident in his eyes.

“I love you too, my prince.”

“Ermal. Please, simply Ermal.”

“As you wish. I love you, Ermal.”

His heart skipped a beat and he was thankful to have already been sitting down, otherwise his legs would not have held him up. The way the syllables of his name rolled off of Fabrizio’s lips sounded like divine music to Ermal: as if the Muses themselves had blessed them and Apollo was playing his lyre in accompaniment to Fabrizio’s voice. He felt his eyes tearing up and hid his face in the Roman’s shoulder.

“Ermal, what’s wrong?” The worry in Fabrizio’s voice made Ermal laugh softly.

“Nothing. It is simply the way you pronounce my name. you make it sound so beautiful.”

“It is a beautiful name, fit for its equally beautiful owner.” The worry was gone, now replaced by a slightly sensual note that drove Ermal insane. He lifted his head and found Fabrizio’s eyes again.

“I long for you.”

“I am yours.”

Another heated kiss. Hands in his hair. His own hands on hot skin. Cloth being thrown carelessly on the floor. Feet stumbling towards the bed. Lips on his neck. His tongue tracing inked lines. A moan of his name. Unification. Heat. Nails cutting the skin of his shoulders. His lips on a neck. Clasped ankles behind his back. His name repeated in a broken voice full of heat. His hands leaving imprints on inked hips. Teeth in his shoulder. _Fabrizio_. Fabrizio. FABRIZIO. _FABRIZIO_. **FABRIZIO**!  

Ermal let himself fall next to the panting Roman and closed his eyes, trying to catch his own breath. As he opened them and turned to face the other, he found Fabrizio looking intently at him with a genuine smile on his lips. Ermal couldn’t hold himself back, so he leaned in and kissed him once more, this time softly, carefully, lovingly. Then he moved on to whisper in Fabrizio’s ear,

“Stay.”

“Forever.”


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go, the final chapter!  
> (Turns out a road trip with my brother is a perfect source for inspiration, who knew.)  
> I hope everything makes sense, please excuse any mistakes, I'm tired.  
> Buona lettura!

Heat. He was surrounded by heat; and he would not want to be anywhere else. Ermal woke up encircled by two strong arms, a solid chest against his back, and he felt himself smiling. He pressed himself against the warmth of Fabrizio behind him, careful not to wake the other, and let out a content sigh. If he could wake up like this every day for the rest of his life, he would die happy.

Ermal was just about to doze off again when he felt the embrace of Fabrizio tighten. Soft lips began leaving a trail of kisses from his shoulderblade, along his neck, to his own lips. Ermal turned in the embrace, placing a hand on Fabrizio’s cheek, and deepened the kiss. As Fabrizio buried a hand in Ermal’s hair and tightened it into a fist, Ermal found himself moaning against the other’s mouth. The Roman bit Ermal’s lower lip lightly, which served only to drive him mad with lust. He pushed Fabrizio back against the pillows and then climbed on top of him, sealing their lips once more.

Nails leaving pink trails on his back. His palms against the hot skin of an inked chest. Teeth at his collarbone. His pale knees next to tanned hips. Unification. Strong hands on his hips. A rhythm being found. His nails digging into shoulders. A tongue along his neck. His voice repeating a name. The rhythm being lost. His name in a low gruff voice. Tanned hands leaving imprints on his pale hips. His fingers getting lost in dark unruly locks. _Fabrizio_. Fabrizio. FABRIZIO. _FABRIZIO_. **FABRIZIO**! 

Ermal collapsed on top of Fabrizio, burying his face in the space between the other’s shoulder and neck, and tried to normalise his breathing. Fabrizio embraced him and kissed his shoulder, smiling against the skin,

“Good morning, Ermal.”

The Illyrian laughed and left a kiss of his own on the inked shoulder of the other,

“It truly is a good morning, with having you here.” He raised himself on his elbows and looked the Roman in the eyes. “I wish that every following morning until the end of my days is to be like this.”

“I will do everything in my power to ensure it, my prince.” Fabrizio lifted his head and sealed their lips again, as if it were a ritual to turn his words into an oath.

Ermal found that warm gaze again and felt _at home_. He wanted to share that with Fabrizio, to ask him to never leave his side, to tell him that it didn’t matter if they’d stay here or go somewhere else, because Ermal was ready to follow him to wherever Fabrizio wanted to go. He took a breath, ready to voice his thoughts, but the sharp sound of a battlehorn interrupted him. His eyes widened in shock – were they being attacked? – and he lifted himself from the bed, hurrying towards the window. It was true, then; they _were_ being attacked: the line of the horizon was obscured by the hundreds of _naves longas_ that were in ready battle-formations. Ermal’s hands gripped the windowstill tightly; could they defend themselves from the Romans, if it truly came to battle? Did they have enough numbers (probably not)? Was the council aware of the danger? Was his father? Did he care? Could Ermal take his siblings and his mother somewhere safe? Where would that place be? Did he have time? The Roman ships were fast and the winds were in their favour; was he too late? Would that be enough? What if-

His wrists were being encircled by warm fingers, pulling his hands carefully off the marble. Ermal turned to find Fabrizio looking at him intently, and that gaze _grounded_ him. The panic gave way to his rational thoughts and he took a breath, nodding at the Roman in gratitude.

“I need to find a way to resolve this diplomatically. No innocent blood must be spilled, I simply need to figure out how to speak to their commander.”

“I will come with you. Perhaps someone would remember me and my presence would have some additional weight on your words.”

“I cannot let you risk your life like this, Fabrizio. I need you to be safe. If something happens to you, I would never forgive myself. I don’t-“

Fabrizio captured his face lightly and Ermal cut himself off.

“I will not let you go there by yourself. I cannot let any harm come to you, either. Do not protest, nothing you say will change my mind. I am a trained soldier, remember?”

“Yes, but there are way too many of them for you to face alone. You must-“

“I must be by your side, exactly. Now, let us dress. We do not have much time, unfortunately.”

Ermal nodded and gave one final kiss to Fabrizio, pouring all his worry and gratitude in it.

***

There was panic on the streets; people were running off to the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The Guard was dispatched, but the people outnumbered the soldiers and rendered their attempts to bring some order into the mess futile.

Ermal reached the _agora_ , Fabrizio in tow, and found the Council already assembled together with the army generals and the first citizens. As they saw him arrive, they quickly surrounded him and began bombarding him with questions regarding what was to be done. He lifted a hand and they quieted down, anticipating his answer.

“Our first priority is to get all the civilians to a safe place. This is to be the woods to the north-east and the tunnels underneath the palace. After this we must assemble the soldiers and have them battle-ready, but we must not position them at a place where the Romans could see them easily. Our numbers are small and this would only make the Romans want to fight us more, to show how powerful they are by stomping on an enemy so powerless. Therefore, our forces are to remain within the city walls. I will then attempt to resolve this situation peacefully with their commander on the shore. I need a small boat to be departed with a message for him. He must know that we have no desire to spill blood. If, and only if, the diplomatic way proves not to be enough and they do attack, then our forces must counter the assault. We have the advantage of being on home ground and the city walls. We must find a way to make this as useful to us as possible.”

The people surrounding him nodded and orders were given to begin preparations. Ermal wrote the message for the commander of the Roman fleet on a piece of parchment and sealed it, giving it to the soldier who was to be the courier. Then, he turned to one of the councillors,

“I need to go back to the palace to make sure that my family is safe. Do you have everything under control here?”

The councillor answered affirmatively and Ermal hurried off to the palace.

Once inside, he turned to Fabrizio,

“I need you to go get my brother. He knows it would be me sending you. Then you need to go to that secret passage I showed you in the baths. Wait for us there.”

Fabrizio nodded and they parted ways, Ermal almost running to his mother’s and his sister’s chambers. Luckily, he found them both in his mother’s study and quickly explained to them what was to be done. They wasted no time in following him to the passage entrance, where his brother and Fabrizio were already waiting for them. Ermal entered the tunnel first, followed by his mother and sister, then his brother, and Fabrizio at the end, serving as a shield from everything that could pose a danger to the royal family from behind.

Once they were in the woods, Ermal did not continue forward towards the shore, but turned to the south instead, and followed a barely visible track, which got them to a small cave, hidden between the trees. Then, he turned to his family,

“Please, stay here. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must remain here, out of danger. I will come to you once it is all over. Please, promise me that you will stay here.”

“We will. But you must be careful, as well.” His mother turned to Fabrizio then. “Please, do not let any harm come to him.”

“I will do everything in my power to protect him, your highness.” Fabrizio bowed to the queen and then he and Ermal made on their way to the shore, where some of the councillors and the army general were already awaiting.

“The messenger we sent has returned with an answer, my prince.” One of the councillors informed him. “The Roman commander has agreed to the negotiations. He will be on the shore shortly.”

They did not have to wait long as six boats filled with legionnaires arrived. From one of them came out one man that was dressed differently – clearly the _legatus Augusti pro praetore_ with whom Ermal needed to speak. He waited for the Romans to stand in formation and then stepped forward, walking towards the _legatus_ and stopping a couple of meters from him.

“Thank you for agreeing to negotiate, _praetore_.”

“Ah, so you must be the prince, correct?” The general’s tone reminded Ermal of that of his father’s first advisor; it had the same mocking note and Ermal dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from reacting visibly negatively.

“Indeed. I would like to present you with an alternative to this needless massacre. Illyria can offer you a wide range of wares, both locally produced and from the East. You will be given enough of the wares to fill fifty ships with them and then a contract can be agreed upon, according to which there are to be relations of commerce between the Republic and Illyria. This way Rome gains both an ally and a profitable commerce connection.”

The _legatus_ seemed to ponder upon Ermal’s proposal for a minute, then nodded.

“It is a reasonable offer. You can begin preparing the goods while I sent for the ships to be brought to the port.”

Ermal let out a sigh of relief and walked back to the councillors, giving them an already prepared list of the wares to be given to the Romans. As orders were given, Ermal went to Fabrizio, who was watching the exchange from behind the rest of the Illyrians.

“I think you should tell your people to be more careful while dealing with this _praetore_ and his subordinates.” Fabrizio’s voice was low so that only Ermal could hear him. “He agreed way too quickly to your proposal and he did not try to demand for more than the offered. I do not know him from before and cannot present any proof for this, it is simply instinct.”

“I trust you. And I will tell the people to pay more attention.” Ermal took a breath. “I simply hope it all goes according to the plan. If it comes to battle, our chances for victory are almost non-existent.”

Fabrizio did not give him an answer; he was well aware of how true Ermal’s words were.

***

They had almost finished loading the wares onto the Roman ships. During that time, Ermal and the _legatus_ had discussed the contract and had taken seat around a table, brought to the shore for them. At Ermal’s right was Fabrizio, currently finishing with writing the contract itself. On his left, there were two of the councillors, serving as advisors and witnesses. Across from them sat the _praetore_ with the _legatus legionis_ on his right and a couple _praefecti_ on his left, serving as his advisors and witnesses.

As Fabrizio was wiring down the final few lines, the Illyrian general came to inform Ermal that the loading of the ships was finished. Ermal nodded, took the parchment Fabrizio was giving him and signed it, then handing it over to the _praetore_. The Roman general went through everything written once more and went to take the quill. Yet, as his gaze fell onto the fleet, he raised the parchment in the air and tore it apart right before Ermal’s eyes.

Suddenly the Romans took out their weapons and attacked. One of the councillors fell dead on the table in front of Ermal and he froze in his place, too shocked to react. He felt strong hands pulling him off the table and away to somewhere and let himself be led. Around him the battle had begun, and half the Illyrian people on the shore had already fallen to their deaths. The Romans had arrived with their ships and were way too many, and even more of them were coming, spilling blood with each step they took. Ermal could not think; he could only see red, red, _red_ …

Once they entered the city walls, Fabrizio stopped Ermal and forced him to look him in the eyes.

“Ermal. You need to breathe. Not all is lost. The people are safe. We still have an army. And they need you to command them. Please, breathe.”

“Command them? I can’t, I don’t know, I, no.”

“You don’t have to be in the front line. You simply need to give them an order and then let them fight. They need to see you remain reasonable and strong in this situation so it would give them strength as well. Simply calm down, breathe.”

“An order, yes. The walls need to be protected.”

“Exactly. Now, take a breath and tell that to the army.”

Ermal closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself, taking deep breath after deep breath. Then, he looked once more at Fabrizio, who nodded at him while smiling. Ermal nodded back and went to stand in front of the gathered soldiers.

“The Romans refused our offer of peace and attacked. They slaughtered the councillors and the general, and are coming for us as we speak, slaughtering the guards along the way. We must do everything in our power to stop them, so we can save the innocent people of Illyria. Their lives are in your hands. Let us show Rome the true strength of Illyria!”

The battlecry that followed was deafening. Ermal raised a fist in the air and the soldiers began hitting their shields with their spears, making the noise even louder. As Ermal let his hand fall, all the soldiers moved to their assigned positions, ready to defend the city and its people. Ermal went back to Fabrizio,

“We should go see if the people have hidden themselves well enough. And we must make sure that no Roman soldier has found his way to them.”

Fabrizio nodded and they made their way towards the woods.

However, the noises of the battle did not die down as they entered the forest. On the contrary: the closer they got, the louder the screams were; some even sounded like women and children. Ermal and Fabrizio sped up their paces and could soon see dead bodies lying between the trees. The scene here was not so different from the one on the beach: the place was full of Roman soldiers, who cut people down with each step they took. Ermal shouted at them to stop, but to no avail: his voice was muted by the screams. A soldier tried to attack him, but Fabrizio kicked the soldier to the ground, taking his weapon and slicing his throat. Ermal stood frozen, the shock being again too much. But Fabrizio took his hand and pulled him forward, fighting off everyone that tried to attack them.

They reached a small clearing and Fabrizio let go of Ermal’s hand, grasping his sword with both hands. More and more Romans were coming for them and soon they were outnumbered. Fabrizio tried to attack, cutting down three soldiers, but was quickly overpowered, forced onto his knees and his weapon taken from him. Ermal was pushed onto his knees right next to the other, but despite the rough push, no harm came to him. The soldiers surrounded them, pointing their weapons at them, but none went for a kill; it seemed like they were ordered not to harm the prince.

They remained like that for what seemed like an eternity, when the circle of soldiers split, giving way to a centurion. He was pulling a man by the hands after himself, and as Ermal took a closer look he saw that the man was his father. The centurion pushed him on the ground next to Ermal and he fell fully, his face hitting the dirt. Then, the _legatus Augusti pro praetore_ entered the circle, cleaning the blood off his sword on his cape. The grin he was wearing was almost animalistic and it made fear rise inside Ermal. The _legatus_ stopped next to the fallen king and made a gesture with his free hand; two of the soldiers caught the king by the arms and lifted him on his knees. The _legatus_ caught him by the hair and pulled his head back, putting his blade on the throat.

“Not so mighty now, are we, _your majesty_.” The title was spit out and the two soldiers holding the king laughed.

“Don’t. Please don’t kill him.” Ermal heard himself saying and forced himself to look straight into the _praetore_ ’s face. The _legatus_ looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile.

“What would you give to save him? Would you rather all these people here died? Or would you prefer it be your precious mother and siblings? How about that lovely scribe of yours? What would your choice be, _princeling_?”

“No, don’t harm the people. Please. And my family, please let them go, they have done nothing, they’re innocent.”

“Ah, so it is the scribe, then. Cease him.”

“No! Don’t touch him!” Ermal had raised his hand in front of Fabrizio, as if it were a shield that could protect the other from harm.

“Not him, as well? You’re out of choices, boy. You have nothing to offer us for the life of your king.”

Ermal let his head fall and bit his lip; he could do nothing, he truly was out of options. As he heard the sound of a blade slicing flesh and blood pouring, he closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He had failed to save his father, he had let him die. The body was let to fall in the dirt and a pool of red formed itself in front of Ermal. He swallowed and forced himself to look up at the _legatus_ (anywhere but at the body).

“You took his life. Now spare that of the others. Please. They are all innocent.”

The _praetore_ looked at him with that mocking smile and began cleaning his blade on his cape.

“Your precious Illyria will become one of Rome’s provinces. The lives of your people for this. And simply because I’m feeling generous, you will retain the power of governor of these lands, but under the orders of the Senate. You will answer to Rome for every decision you take and will follow every command you receive in turn. Illyria will also pay Rome three hundred _denarii_ each year and will act as Rome’s commerce centre for the East. These are the conditions.”

“I accept, as long as no one else is harmed.”

“You have my word, _princeling_. Now, let us get back to the palace to form a new contract and get your little signature on it.”

***

The contract had been signed. The Romans had collected the first three hundred _denarii_ and had returned to their ships, on their way back to Rome.

Ermal had reunited with his mother and his siblings, telling them of his father’s death and his inability to do anything about it.

“It was not your fault, dear.” His mother had said, embracing him. “You took the right decision: you chose to save many lives for the loss of just one.”

Then he had gone to the woods and the shore, helping to get all the bodies to the burial grounds. The bodies had been buried and mourned, and offerings were made for the gods. Ermal had arranged that every relative of a dead person was to receive ten _drachmae_ and some provisions.

After that he had gone to his chambers and had let himself sit on the bed with his head in his hands. Fabrizio had sat next to him, embracing him and Ermal had turned to him, burying his face in the other’s shoulder.

“I am so tired.” Ermal had broken the minute-long silence. Fabrizio had tightened his hold.

“You had to make an impossible choice. But you made it and then stayed with your people. They are grateful to you for that. They see a strong leader in you and will give you their support without hesitation. And most importantly, you are alive.”

“It matters only that my family is well. That you are alive and here, with me.” Ermal lifted his head to look Fabrizio in the eyes. “Thank you.”

Fabrizio kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly once more. Ermal turned to whisper in his ear,

“Stay.”

“Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand cut!  
> Please don't hate me about the final, I tried to make it historically accurate. It's not as bad as it seems, things like that happened all the time in the ancient world (unfortunately). They're together, right? Right.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading all this nonsense. Thank you all so much for staying with me until the end! Thank you for the kind comments, they truly do mean so much!  
> I'd also like to thank to Ermal and Fabrizio because withouth them none of this would have been written. They truly are a great inspiration and I wish them that this is just the beginning of their success.  
> And, at the end, thanks to myself for actually finishing this, being proud of yourself feels amazing!  
> I would love to hear what you thought about all of this, so, please, do let me know!  
> Allora, ciao a tutti e, ancora, grazie!


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